All These Little Things (will catch up to you)
by archergwen
Summary: A collection of one-shots for Stydia, the ship finally sailing
1. In a Moment of Truth

"Hey, Lydia, what's wrong?"

She turns, honeyed hair tossed over her shoulder, and replies with an Everything's Fine Smile perfected in high school. "Nothing. Everything is just peachy."

"Cut the bullcrap, Lydia. I know you. Lydia Martin is highly fashionable and can wear anything she wants, but those jeans only get brought out when you're stressed as they're the comfiest thing you know. So tell me what's wrong."

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"You're right; you don't. But when did telling me things ever not help?"

She hums, and Stiles feels a _ping_ in his chest. It's such a familiar twist of the lips and sound he knows almost as well as his own hands.

"Am I allowed to count the times with dead bodies?"

"When wasn't there a dead body involved?"

Now there's a genuine smirk. "So. Spill."

She huffs, almost a sigh, before squaring up to him. "Well if you must know, double-majoring in mathematics and biochemistry is difficult work - thank God I don't have to worry about keeping scholarships on top of everything else because if I did I just might crack. Plus, you know, there are still dead bodies to send anonymous tips about to the police, and I'm still the perfect post-divorce bargaining chip with my parents even at twenty one - which oh when my mother backslides on all the progress we've made it's just the worst." Lydia takes a deep breath, blinking quickly. "And to top it all off, Prada-"

Her voice cuts off, though her lips keep moving, trying to force the words out and _fuck_ she's crying.

"Lydia!"

Stiles there, as always, his arms around her, pulling her tight as if he could bend his collarbone to better hug her. Lydia almost vanishes into his flannel shirt, flannel as always, the soft fabric warm and smelling of _him_ and oh she missed him _she missed him_ she missed the _pack_. Fuck college.

"I imagine she was pretty old."

His voice is cautious, soft and rumbling in his chest she feels it as much as hears it.

"She was, but some bigger dog-"

Her sobs crack her voice, and Stiles pulls her closer. She breathes with him, has to, her lungs have to follow his rhythm of in and out, and so she is saved from hyperventilation.

"How did I end up alone?"

"You're not alone, Lydia, I'm-"

"Miles away becoming the next in the Stilinski line of sherrifs. Scott's becoming a vet. The rest of the pack is scattered to the winds, and you're only visiting because of the cop book convention."

His reply comes out muffled through her hair. "It's a great convention."

"I know. I went with you the last two years. Only now we're all drifting apart. What happened?"

"I'm sorry, Lydia."

He doesn't mention the growing anxiety, the thought that she's growing annoyed or bored with him, and how unchecked it will ravage his sanity. He doesn't mention hanging onto hope by fingernails as he comes face to face with the worst the world has to offer, over and over, pulling away to shield the pack.

He just holds his best friend, the woman he has loved longer than any jeep, hoping to suck away some pain.

When the convention is over, and he is miles away again, he wraps that sad memory around himself as armor and texts her:

 _Hey. :) How's your day going?_

It's not much.

But it's a start.


	2. In a Moment of Laughter

**In a Moment of Laughter**

Lydia is not quite sure if she likes Stiles as her barista.

On the one hand, he has never misspelled her name, and she trusts him to use soy and not kill her by way of painful lactose allergy.

On the other hand, he thinks he's hilarious.

She almost missed the first one. It was a hurried morning, and she wasn't in the habit of perusing takeaway cups. (She is now.)

As she was about to drop the cup in the trash on her way into 8am o-chem, she sees it.

 _You are hotter than the bottom of my laptop._

Lydia snorted and rolled her eyes, though it was wasted as the target of this exasperation was still working away.

The next cup was much the same - _Girl is your name Wifi ? Because I'm feeling a connection!_ \- and then he has the day off. Scott, though adorable and wonderful all-around, does not have the same "endearing through annoying" streak that Stiles has.

Before too long, she just doesn't go in to the shop if she knows he won't be there. She can make her coffee at home for cheaper, and not have that sad pang looking at a takeaway cup with no pick-up line.

If she had more hoarder tendencies, she'd keep the cups.

 _If you were a vegetable you'd be a cute-cumber._

 _Do you have a map? I'm getting lost in your eyes._

 _I don't have a library card, but do you mind if I check you out?_

The last one, she catches before she leaves the shop. She reads it, re-reads it, and then looks back towards Stiles.

He's cute when flustered, as he's just been caught staring after her. He's cute and he's shy, but Lydia has never backed down from what she wanted, and romance is the battleground she knows.

She lifts the cup up, line towards him, adding, "You're overdue. You've got fine written all over you."

Before he can react - before she can process Scott and Isaac snickering - she flounces out the door.

The next time she gets coffee from Stiles, he looks at her with more weight. Her cup still has an expected pick-up line, with the added bonus of a phone number.

 _My doctor says I'm lacking Vitamin U._

As she walks out, smiling more earnestly and truthfully than she has in a while, she hears him call after her, "Hey, tie your shoes! I don't want you falling for anyone else!"


	3. In an Absent-Minded Second

**In an Absent-Minded Second**

"Woah, hold up!"

The glass Lydia has picked up is suddenly snatched out of her hand by the bartender. "I totally mixed the wrong drink for you. Let me make you a new one. On me."

Lydia rolls her head, drawing back to protest, only she stops at his widening eyes, a clear attempt to communicate something.

The guy she's been flirting with isn't watching her, but the glass that hasn't been poured out. Instead, the bartender has placed it on an empty shelf. His face is a little twisted. "Look, if it's going to go to waste, I'll take it."

"Oh it's no trouble," the bartender adds, a sharp look in his eye. "What was your name, by the way? Steve? Nathan?"

"William," he says, as if unsure.

"I thought you said it was David." Lydia adds, in a sweet tone with steel beneath it. The man makes a few non-committal noises as he slinks away.

Lydia catches the bartender's sleeve before he can escape. "What was that about?"

The man shrugs. "I saw him put something in your glass. I mean, I could've made a mistake, but better safe than sorry. His reaction makes me glad I did it, though."

"Here, pass the drink back over. If it's Rophenol my nail polish will turn black."

"And mess up that manicure?" He smiles at her. "I have a better idea. Yo, Derek!"

"What." The buff, brooding man a few seats down barely changes his expression.

"Start a bar fight over there." The bartender gestures vaguely towards "David," who is now cozy-ing up to another girl.

"Why?"

"Because that's what I'm paying you for? You'll like this one anyway. I need you to get some drugs off the dude."

Derek looks between Lydia and the bartender, his gaze glancing at the shelf with her confiscated drink. "Seriously? You always ask me to do these ones."

"Well fine. I'll ask Braeden. See if she stops calling you a puppy anytime in the next year-"

"Fine. I'll do it."

He wanders away from the bar, but Lydia isn't focused on him anymore. She catches the bartender's sleeve again.

"There are other people here, ma'am."

"And there is another bartender. I just wanted to say thank you." She pauses to watch his whole self light up. "And to let you know you didn't finish making my non-drugged drink."

He turns bright red as he hurries to remake her drink.

Lydia hangs around a while longer. She watches as Derek get into a less-than-Hollywood shoving match only to return back to the bar, seemingly defeated, before pressing a small ziplock into the bartender's hand along with money for a new drink.

The sheriff shows up a little later, when Lydia is writing her cell number on a napkin. She smiles, adding little notes onto the napkin, while the sheriff pulls her bartender aside - his son - to give him a talking to about what makes evidence admissible in court.

"David" walks out of the bathroom at that point, hair fixed from his Derek scuffle. He tries to slip out, unseen, but the sheriff flags him down, "you're not in trouble, this is just a formality, few questions, no warrants" with the undercurrent that resistance will make this official. Maybe no charges will stick, but maybe it will sully his record.

"So," Lydia ventures, watching her bartender make another drink. "Are you ever going to give this up and become a detective?"

His eyes flash to hers, full of want, before he turns back to the gimlet. "Maybe."

"You should," she continues, pushing her tip and decorated napkin towards him as she stands. "You'd be the kind of cop little old ladies bake for, and for whom the unmarried ladies swoon for after church."

"What kind of Wild West fantasy world do you live in?"

"I'm Lydia," she replies.

"Stiles. And you didn't answer my question."

She shrugs, turning away, throwing her hair over her shoulder as if she didn't care, throwing a smile over as well. "Guess you have something to text me about then."

It's 3am, and Lydia - ever a light sleeper since high school - wakes up to a barrage of texts from an unknown number starting with: "Sorry if this wakes you; bartenders keep late hours" followed by sweet things that warm her heart, convincing her this was not mistake.

She falls back asleep with a smile on her face.


	4. In a Jeep

In a jeep is where they do their best work.

It's how they are, two friends piling burrito wraps on one side, salad containers on the other while they follow rumors of anything and everything out of the ordinary.

They stare down werewolves, fists clenching wolfsbane and silver.

They laugh with were-coyotes in the desert when they manage to surprise one.

(They love burritos, it turns out, meaning for two days Stiles has to share salads with Lydia.)

(Despite professing love for balanced meals, he goes back to frozen burritos at the next supermarket, completely covering her salads in the cooler, but Lydia doesn't mind.)

 _(More for her.)_

They park the Jeep backwards on a pier and watch sirens dance as the sun rises, seats leaned to lean against, ears plugged the whole time.

 _(She reaches out to hold his hand, rubbing gentle circles the whole time.)_

 _(He leans his head on her shoulder, brushing against her, so even while the ocean is their morning entertainment they are grounded.)_

They race nymphs. They lose, but no one's hurt.

Their hearts, bound up in each other, race long after the running is over.

(Between the two of them, Lydia won, throwing a look over her shoulder with a grin and her hair flying about _and that is why Stiles lost but still, really, won_.)

He packs their car up to leave, the new Jeep that Hale money provided, that Stiles's hands fixed and cared for, that his brain re-planned and changed so that the floor of the trunk hides their cooler and some clothes, but he tucks some into the roof and the chairs to be efficient, though Lydia makes him replace her seat so it's not lumpy.

He's working on getting a way to cook food, but generators are heavy and he's not sure the trade-off is worth it. After all, truck stops will let you use the microwave for free, and that doesn't destroy gas mileage.

Most importantly, the seats fold all the way back so as to make a proper bed.

So, after a post-run stretch, Lydia curls up on her side, behind the driver's seat. Besides, she prefers the left side of the Jeep, anyway.

The doors lock as Stiles settles in next to her, pulling her seat down a little so he can sleep on his back and stretch out his legs.

Humans shouldn't run with werewolves for too long. It wears on the body.

 _It wears on the soul._

In the darkness - not absolute, there are streetlights, after all, but they've learned to live with that and the sounds - Lydia waits for some of the stress to ease before scooting closer, throwing one arm over his chest as she curls around his immovable form. His matching arm snakes underneath her.

They fall asleep as they always do, even if tonight is quiet because they're just too tired for anything else.

Everything will start all over again when day comes, when they chase down the next information - there's a whole notebook of tips they've overheard on the radio scanner from The Jeep (they'll come back to get her one day; Scott promised to take care of her).

They'll come back when things are sorted, when all heads are back on right, when memories aren't as fresh and raw.

Until then, they're making their way across the country, finding problems, fixing them, making it clear that the beacon in Beacon Hills was not a homing beacon for trouble.

Lydia's caught more than a few admiring glances from Stiles as she hammers that point home sometimes.

Warmed by the memory, Lydia pulls herself closer to her Stiles, and in his half asleep state he hums, meaning she pulls him closer.

There might be only a small sum in their bank account.

They might not have a house - other than their parents' - since there's no way anyone can drag an actual house around with them.

All things considered, she has Stiles, so she has everything she needs. She has a home.

In this Jeep, they have a home.


	5. In a Place of Beauty

(A/N: A short one while I get back into the swing of one-shots)

The bell over the door chimes merrily in the early morning stillness.

"How are you feeling today, Lydia?"

The strawberry blonde in question looks up from the flower arrangement in her hands. A grin splits her face before she adopts an intentional thinking face, humming in thought. "Red."

"You got it!"

Her favorite customer wanders through the store while she finishes up her current work. She sets the arrangement aside when he comes up to the desk, thin-petaled flower secure in his hands.

She smiles again. "A zinnia! Lovely choice. Thank you, Stiles."

She leans across the counter so he can tuck the flower into her braid, and so she can kiss his cheek. "A bit of beauty for the beauty in a place of beauty."

"Said 'beauty' enough times?"

"Not nearly enough for how beautiful you are." He pays while she blushes. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course. I'm thinking of wearing green."

"Oh, a challenge. I look forward to it."


	6. In the El Train

**In the El Train**

Lydia is mentally cursing.

She'd never let anyone know, of course, but she is doing so all the same. There's a carefully written note in her perfect scrip resting on her notepad, under her tapping fingernails. She would be rethinking her almost casual use of Archaic Latin if she wasn't carefully staring at the spot above the note-recipient's head.

His awake head.

Chicago rushes by the window, but she's seen it before and remains unimpressed. The landscape is just a countdown to her stop now, to what now seems to be an inevitable reveal. Her note is time-sensitive, and her chances of seeing him on the ride home are 30% at best.

She takes a deep breath-

-and lets it out as he looks around, sighs, and then settles down into a very terrible impression of someone asleep.

He's clever, but she won't fall for it. She knows his sleeping tells by now, and she knows he doesn't have siblings else he'd know how to fake those tells.

Lydia rustles her papers as she stands, starting to queue for the door. His eyes are cheating open, trying to find her. She won't give him the satisfaction - not until she's sure he won't mind a partner who can outthink him at 7am before coffee, even if his writings betray an intelligence she may be underestimating. She also doesn't want to get stabbed by a very determined creeper, so when the door opens and he's looking away, she smashes her note into his face, covering his eyes.

She gets to see half a second of him flailing before the tide of people carries her away and from his sight. His next note will be cross with her, she's sure, and her next will tease him.

She's looking forward to it, now.


End file.
